


The First Morning of the Rest of Their Lives

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has No Effort, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has Two Penises (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Zine: Bottoms Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: In the early morning light that filters through the windows of Crowley's Mayfair flat, an angel stirs and wakes, reveling in the love he and his demon share.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 214





	The First Morning of the Rest of Their Lives

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Bottom!Aziraphale edition of the Bottoms Up Good Omens fanzine, which I collabed on with CS Smith ( [Twitter](https://twitter.com/poorlyporned) ); it was an absolute honor to work with her and the rest of the creators in this zine!

“I want you, Crowley — all of you,” Aziraphale gasps out as the fingers slip out his mouth; sinking back as far into Crowley’s embrace as he can. Crowley nips at his shoulder and Aziraphale shivers in response with teeth that have grown to fangs. 

They’re in Crowley’s bed in Mayfair, spooning in the early dawnlight. Aziraphale has never felt more content, wrapped in Crowley’s arms while lavished with amorous attentions.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Angel?” Crowley hisses, thin forked tongue gliding along the shell of his ear. Crowley’s hold on his physical corporation is slipping in this sleep-haze of touch and taste.

Crowley nuzzles against his cheek, scales scratching against Aziraphale’s soft skin. The duality of them. Soft and angular, smooth and rough. 

“Given last night—” Aziraphale says around shallow breaths, eyes closing in bliss, “—I’d say I do quite a lot to you.” Crowley’s hands are on a pilgrimage; roaming the soft curves of his stomach, along his rib cage, down to his thighs. They ghost over where his Effort would be, were he making one. The skin is sensitive there and Aziraphale moans at the contact.

“Last night —” Crowley says placing kisses into Aziraphale’s hair, to the back of his neck, at the top of his spine “—was the best night of my life, angel.” 

“Could go again, if you wanted,” Aziraphale grinds back against Crowley to make his point. He still feels open and empty. So very empty. And he _wants_. He wants Crowley inside of him again. Wants to absorb the demon into his very atoms, make him a space there to always be loved and protected and _safe_. Is that wrong of him? Might be. 

But maybe God should have thought of that before She made such a covetous angel.

“And would you want that, Aziraphale?” Crowley whispers against the shell of his ear. “Want me to take you again, right here, right now?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says breathlessly, turning to capture Crowley’s lips with his own. Crowley’s eyes have gone yellow, his teeth have elongated, and beautiful black scales ghost up the sides of his neck and across his cheeks, reaching all the way into his hairline. “You’re so beautiful, Crowley.”

Crowley buries his face in Aziraphale’s neck, “Angel, you’re gonna discorporate me talking like that.”

“By saying the truth?” Aziraphale giggles at the clingy demon. “I could go further, tell you how much I want you, how much I love you, how I’ve watched you all these years, wishing for the chance to feel what it’s like…”

Aziraphale trails off as Crowley turns, reaching for his nightstand; hears the click of a plastic bottle cap and the wet sound of something slick. He has just enough time to thrill at the prospect before Crowley’s arm is back around him again, claws gently scraping the wide expanse of his stomach as he lines himself back up. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale asks, feeling something different than last night, “Crowley…is that…?”

“Bit snakey this morning, dove,” Crowley says through tongue and teeth on Aziraphale’s neck, “I can banish one of them if you need me to, might take me a bit. Or I could fuck those delicious thighs of yours.”

Aziraphale draws a sharp breath and grinds back against Crowley’s slicked cocks. One of them slips between his legs, dragging against the bare skin. “ _Oh —_ Oh, Crowley!”

“Can I take that as a yes?”

“Very much a yes and you know it, foul fiend.” There’s no bite to it — Aziraphale is too wrapped up in this formerly forbidden contact. Crowley gently kisses his neck and Aziraphale feels his heart is full to bursting with the softness of this action. 

Crowley lines himself up — easing his way in gently, hissing against Aziraphale’s skin. Crowley’s second cock slides slick between his thighs, rubbing against the soft skin there. Aziraphale gasps while Crowley’s hands roam his body, soft and reverent. “Gorgeous angel, don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop touching you,” Crowley growls into his ear as he pulls back slowly before slamming back into Aziraphale’s waiting body. 

He sets a rhythm that’s insistent but not rushed, two slow drags that bring Aziraphale closer and closer to the edge. The feeling of Crowley’s cock inside him and sliding between his thighs is intoxicating. As he reaches behind him, gripping Crowley’s hip to encourage him to go faster, he wishes there were a third just so he could get his mouth on it.

Aziraphale wants, and he’ll never stop wanting. Wanting this slow drag of Crowley’s cocks, wanting mornings waking up in the same bed, wanting to spend the rest of his life coveting this demon he’s never been allowed to love.

Crowley quickens his pace, making litanies in dead languages fall from Aziraphale’s lips. “Have you any idea,” Crowley hisses low into his ear, “how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on these?” He presses his clawed hands into Aziraphale’s hips, tightening the plush flesh around his cock. It only heightens the sensation for Aziraphale, release with nowhere to go building in the pit of his stomach with the slick drag against his skin, with the merciless push against that one spot inside of him.

“Crowley,” he moans out as his pleasure crests. He shudders to pieces in Crowley’s arms; the release he’s craved but has no outlet turns to emotion, to love and it radiates off of him in waves. He grips Crowley’s hip tight, a silent permission.

“Aziraphale, angel!” Crowley shouts as his own release spills over, filling Aziraphale up and spilling over his thighs. He grips Aziraphale tight, still thrusting through his release.

They lie there together, breaths heavy, I-love-you’s and endearments and early morning confessions falling from their lips. In this bed tangled together, in this flat in Mayfair, on this Earth that they risked everything for - on this first day of the rest of all days. Touching and loving and _existing_. Together, just as they’ve always wanted. 


End file.
